A Pathetically Gryffindor Way to Love
by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: Next gen slash. Valentine's Day at Hogwarts highlights all the different ways there are to love. No matter how brave a lion James Potter is, though, some love will always have to be secret. Includes sexual relations between cousins and brothers.


**Warnings:** Cross-gen (43/17); Incest (brothers and cousins); Blood (but not blood play); Oral sex; Frottage; Biting.

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to my beta, feltonxmalfoy, who is not usually an incest fan, so I am particularly grateful. Written for "noeon" at live journal's _acciovalentinus fest. _I was a little intimidated to be writing for noeon because of her undisputed awesomeness. This fic cannot begin to approach worthiness, but it was created out of worshipfulness and love. Prompts used: red lips, love bites, heart-shaped box, rose with thorns, burn (on skin), kissing, biting, sexual tension.

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Valentine's Day is a very Hufflepuff celebration. Their table is always milling with activity on the morning of February the fourteenth: all of them handing out friendship bands and home-made cards and cookies. They can all be very lovely to one another, which makes them feel warm and good.

The Ravenclaws spend weeks beforehand constructing clever riddles which obscure their identities to those they desire, and the weeks afterwards picking the clues apart before they dare to approach their admirer. Even then, they'll probably just leave a note in code.

Gryffindors are more straightforward, of course, more direct; they just muster their courage and declare their love.

And Slytherins? They don't tend to bother with any of it. Hearts and flowers, rainbows and butterflies: not really the Slytherin way of doing things.

Albus Potter leant back on the Slytherin bench and sneered along with his House-mates. For six years he had endured breakfasts on St. Valentines day. Pathetic. He was particularly disgusted by his brother, the King of the Valentine saps. The biggest crowd at the Gryffindor table collected where he sat. Simpering girls jostled as they proffered him their love tokens.

It was difficult to see James' face at all, but - when Albus did catch a glimpse - he saw a gracious, polite acceptance on it. At least this was the last year he would have to endure this. James would be leaving this year, Albus next year. They wouldn't be here, but Albus didn't doubt that the scene would be the same as this every Valentine's morning - because people were just pathetic like that.

He looked along the tables, down to the end nearest the doors where the First Years sat. In seven years' time one of them would be sitting where James did now, with silly, pretty, fluttering girls flapping around him. The little ones were putting effort into the exchanging of cards already, and what could an eleven-year-old possibly know about love?

He scanned up the tables. All of his cousins were in Gryffindor, like James. Rose was being ridiculous, clutching a bouquet of some pink flowers to her heaving breast; Louis was actually on one knee. Even little Hugo was carrying an enormous heart-shaped box. Well, not little any more, but still young. He'd just had his fifteenth birthday. What was he playing at? Pretending to be infatuated? Pathetic!

Albus sipped his black coffee and watched the floorshow. Scorpius Malfoy caught his eye and pulled a face. They sniggered. At least watching the rest of the school making fools of themselves was a bonding experience for his House, who were normally distrustful of each other. They were particularly wary of the son of the Chosen One.

Hugo was nervously making his way through the hall. Albus idly wondered which fair maiden was going to be gifted that ostentatious candy box. He was heading up the table. An older woman, eh? Hoping for an erotic education, was he? A couple of the Sixth Year Gryffindor girls must have been thinking along the same lines as Albus, because they looked disappointed when the lanky red-head bypassed them. In fact, he was now walking past Seventh Years. This was absurd. Hugo might be tall, but there was no meat to him and he blushed and stammered every time he opened his mouth. An eighteen year-old was a woman. He was going to be shot down in flames if he approached one of them.

A movement drew Albus' eyes away from his cousin. There was some kind of commotion at the centre of James' little harem. In fact, it was James himself: he was standing up. With a quick sweep of the room, Albus ascertained that he wasn't the only one watching this development; almost everyone had their eyes on his brother. He sat a little straighter. He did hope that he wasn't about to be embarrassed.

Politely but firmly, James pushed his admirers out of the way. He looked expectant, excited, delighted. Who was that face for? James always accepted admiration with a benign, slightly bored, air. Albus didn't like this new, happy James.

It had to be an optical illusion, but it looked as though something impossible were about to happen. Albus felt sick. He was never going to live this down. Horrified, he saw Hugo (of all people) approaching James (of all people) and handing over his oversized, heart-shaped candy box. Worse still, James leaned forward and kissed Hugo on the cheek. In front of everyone!

Albus looked around the hall. All he could see were open-mouths and wide eyes. He heard gasping. Then he heard a chuckle, which was joined by a giggle, and the whole room was staring, pointing, laughing and gossiping. He slumped face-first onto the table and wished that he'd been an only child and so had his mother.

The tone of the chatter changed slightly and he peeked up. The students at his own table were starting to pay attention to him, which was a bad thing. Beyond them, though, he could see that James had that garish box in one hand and - oh abomination! - Hugo's hand in the other, and he was leading him excitedly back to the part of the bench he had just left. They moved through all the disappointed girls, and James picked something up.

Although he only had eyes for Hugo, James managed to display the plant he handed him to the rest of the hall. It had a big, red ribbon round the pot and a couple of red flowers at the top. Albus groaned when he realised that they were roses.

Hugo's soppy expression as he took the thing in both hands was too much for Albus; he abandoned his breakfast and escaped from the hall by the nearest Prefect's Entrance. Once he was sure he was alone, he pressed his palms to the cold stone of the low-ceilinged corridor and then his forehead, too, and he moaned like an animal in pain. How could his relatives do this to him?

James was one of the most popular boys in the school. Why would he have anything to do with a Fourth Year? A boy? A cousin? Girls his own age were throwing themselves at him! And if they had to be so aberrant, then why now? Couldn't they have waited a year, or just a few months, until James had left the school and Albus wouldn't find himself having to deal with this? He didn't dare go to his Common Room. He was going to be the butt of every kind of joke.

He heard footsteps on the stone floor and straightened up quickly, moving away from the wall and plastering an expression of purpose onto his features. Just in time: Professor Malfoy was approaching him.

"Potter," said his Head of House, in his usual smooth, cold voice. It sent a thrill along Albus' spine; it always did.

Still, he nodded casually and replied, "Professor."

Then, Malfoy's lip twitched and he smiled. He was only ever amused at someone else's expense. Normally this was a trait which Albus admired in the man, but this morning he was afraid that he might be the target of the mirth himself.

"I noticed that you were as unimpressed by the annual antics of the other Houses as I was," Malfoy purred.

Relief flooded Albus. He allowed himself a smile. "I just wish it didn't reflect on me, sir."

Draco dismissed the idea with his hand. "We are all aware by now that you are nothing like your kin."

Malfoy had noticed Albus' reaction at breakfast. That must mean that he'd been watching him. Albus assessed his professor. Had he been sitting up on the raised staff table and looking down at the Slytherin table? At Albus in particular?

As though reading his thoughts, Professor Malfoy said, "Yes. I find you to be someone who is worth watching."

Albus might have looked like his father, but he could blush like a Weasley. Sometimes it got in the way of his cool cunning. He could really have done without it now.

"Ridiculous though it is," the older man continued in a voice of silk, "Valentine's Day does provide a good excuse for some rather pleasant activities. Do you intend to dine in Hall tonight, at any of the tables for two which are provided once a year?"

"Me sir? No, sir." Albus tried to speak clearly. "I always skip dinner on Valentine's, get something from the kitchens later. Eat while I study. Sir." His hands were sweating and he longed to cool them on the walls again.

"I wouldn't advise that," Malfoy said with a raised eyebrow. "Not tonight."

The intelligent, grey eyes he'd spent years fantasising about, locked with his own, and Albus suddenly found his mouth to be very dry. He didn't dare lick his lips.

The Potions Master continued. "I suggest you dine with me in my chambers. Would you like that?"

"Sir, yes. I mean, that—it—sounds delightful. I would be delighted."

"Just the two of us. Do wear something pretty." Then, Malfoy broke eye contact and swept away.

His star pupil stood frozen for a moment. Then a delighted grin spread across his features. A date. There was no mistaking it. He had a date. Tonight. With the sexiest man he'd ever known. Tonight. Of all nights.

His elation gave him the strength to endure the cruel taunts fired at him in every lesson.

At lunch time, Professor Longbottom popped into Greenhouse Three to check on the mandrakes. They always made him think of Hermione, of how they had awakened her from her petrification in their second year. That had been when he had realised that plants were not just lovely, but that they could be an essential part of magic, too.

Because he had been thinking of her, it took Neville a while to register that the young man standing with his back to him was her son. When he did, he wondered why Hugo would be here and not in the Great Hall. He cleared his throat and the boy turned round.

"Sorry, sir. Is it ok?"

"That depends on why you are here," Neville replied with a smile.

"I was just watering my plant. I was going to ask you, actually, sir, if it would be ok for me to keep it in here."

"Let me have a look."

A red rose, rather a lovely one. It needed a bit of feeding up, though. There was a red ribbon round it and a card attached. Oh dear, it wasn't Valentine's Day already was it? No wonder Hannah had given him one of her exasperated looks this morning.

"Are you going to give this to a young lady, Hugo?" Hugo was shy and awkward, a little like he had been at the same age. He found plants easier than people, too. Neville was rather fond of him and liked to keep an eye on him for Ron and Hermione.

Hugo looked embarrassed, but he answered clearly enough. "No, it's for me. My boyfriend gave it to me. Because he knows I like gardening." He paused for a moment. "Well, I think he's my boyfriend now. I hope so."

Neville liked to think he was tolerant, but he was a little thrown by the boy's declaration. He knew iabout/i gay people, of course, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever actually met any. He took a deep breath and searched for a suitable response. "How lovely," he said in the end. "Are you seeing him tonight, then?"

Hugo nodded. "We're going to sit together. I gave him chocolates. That's what he likes."

"That's lovely."

"If I keep the rose in here, then I thought it might last longer. Can I borrow some plant food for it? I'll come in and water it every day; it won't be any bother."

"That would be fine, Hugo. Just don't interrupt any classes."

They looked at the plant together. Neville was grateful; it meant he didn't have to look at Hugo or feign a casualness which he wasn't feeling. He wasn't sure how he was meant to react. What would Ron expect him to do?

"It could do with a bit of a prune." Neville indicated where.

Hugo immediately thrust his hand in to examine the flaw. He pulled it back and put it in his mouth.

"Let me see," Neville said gently.

His finger was bleeding. Hugo held his hand very still while his teacher healed it.

"Got to be careful," Neville said. "Remember the thorns."

"Can you see where it was?" It was all lovely smooth skin. "Good. I don't want James to know his rose hurt me."

James? Surely not. Neville felt uneasy. Not James Potter. He couldn't think of any other student called James. He hesitated before saying anything. He wanted to be fair and liberal after all. He applied the 'het test'. How would he feel if it were, say, Lily and Louis?

"That's a bit of an age gap, isn't it? I mean, he's of age and you're not." Neville knew why that felt suspect, but he wasn't sure how to express his worries to Hugo. "You know at that age, well, he might be more experienced, um, expect things to move faster than you might be comfortable with."

"It's ok. It's safe. He's my cousin."

And that was yet another issue. That made it worse somehow. Neville couldn't imagine how either set of parents was going to react. He didn't know what to do.

"Look, I know he's handsome and popular and everything, but ... well, it's like the rose. I don't want to see you get hurt." He indicated the curled velvet of the flowers. "Someone can be good to look at," then he pointed at the thorn on the stem, "but that doesn't mean he hasn't ..." Got a prick? That wasn't quite what he'd been trying to say. Or was it?

When the last pitiful First Year had dragged her inept body from his potions lab, Professor Draco Malfoy wandlessly slammed the door behind her. He then took some useful little powders from a locked drawer in his desk.

James counted the practice brooms and shut up the Gryffindor team locker. Then he did an inspection tour of the changing rooms and secured them, too. He didn't want to be interrupted tonight by anything Quidditch-related.

He took a quick look in one of the mirrors and tried ruffling up his hair the way Albus did. Of course it didn't work. The auburn strands just straggled more unevenly over his forehead. He would have to go back to the Tower and brush it properly. As he strode across the lawns he puffed some breath into his palm and held it up to his nose. Ok, maybe a brush of the teeth wouldn't go amiss, too.

Albus had a long bath in the Prefect's bathroom. He carefully selected just the right shampoo, conditioner, soap, body gel, cologne and different lotions for his feet, face, torso, hands and bottom. He removed some dark body hairs and thickened others. Then he started working on his nails.

Draco took his best crystal out of the trunk where it was packed away safely for most of the year. He started up a polishing spell while he selected the finest of his silverware. The house-elves had received their orders at lunchtime. He didn't trust them to lay the table, though, that would have to be done to exacting aesthetic proportions.

Laid out on his bed was Hugo's outfit: new Dress Robes, socks without holes in them, clean underpants. He was polishing his shoes. He wasn't the only one in his bedroom who was getting ready for a date tonight, but the rest of them seemed to be avoiding him.

Draco opened the doors to his wardrobe and selected a charcoal grey velvet suit which had been tailor-made for him: its style was somewhere between the Wizarding and Muggle traditions and it flattered his body shape perfectly.

Unlacing his Quidditch gloves, James kicked open his trunk lid. There was a jumble of fabric in there mixed up with his books and something ancient and sticky. He couldn't be sure what Hugo would expect. He'd never really taken a date seriously before. He knelt down and started to sort through his clothes. He ought to at least make it look as though he had made an effort.

By the time Draco had completed his ablutions, the crystal was clean and polished. He held one goblet up to the light and smirked with satisfaction. He had no doubts that his special treat for tonight would be very willing, but there was no harm in relaxing him just a little bit more. He applied a thin coating of transparent powder to the inside of the goblet.

James knocked on the dark wood and waited.

"Who is it?" was called from inside the room.

"Just me. James."

"How did you get down here?"

"One of your snake mates let me in."

"What do you want?"

"Albus! Open the door!"

"What do you want? It's easy an question; even you have a chance with it."

James looked down the corridor. Several of his brother's fellow Sixth and Seventh Year Slytherins had come to the doors of their study-bedrooms to eye him suspiciously. He pressed his face close to the wood of the door.

"Look, Al, I've got a date tonight."

"I know."

"I was wondering if I could borrow something—" he fell forward into the room as the door swung forwards.

"Why are you still in your Quidditch kit? Shouldn't you be dressing up? You'll want to meet him nice and early, or you'll get no time together before his bedtime."

As James picked himself up, he located Albus standing on the far side of the room in front of a floor-length looking glass. "Oh. You're wearing it," he said, disappointed. The door slammed shut again behind him.

Albus was, indeed, wearing his new magenta three piece suit. He was wearing it well, too. The waistcoat was snug, the jacket more billowing. It had been his Christmas present from their parents, the only thing he had asked for. It skimmed his buttocks and hugged his inner thighs. James decided to stop looking at the cut of the suit round that particular area.

"How come you're in it? I wanted to borrow it."

Albus sighed. He said nothing, though, just continued to work on the sharp folds of his bow tie.

"Oh, come on. It's Valentine's." James stood behind his brother and pleaded with the reflection of his face.

"Your display this morning alerted me to that fact," Albus sneered.

"You've got a problem with me seeing Hugo?" James laughed. "It's actually none of your business who I go out with. Go on, lend me the suit."

"Hugo is far too young to appreciate this sort of quality."

James grinned. "He likes me, doesn't he?"

Their eyes met in the glass briefly. Albus looked surprisingly serious. "No. It's mine," he said.

"But I've got a date. What do you need it for?"

"So have I." Albus stared steadily into his own eyes, avoiding James'.

There was a charged silence. Finally James asked one word. "Who?"

"It's actually none of your business who I go out with."

"I thought Slytherins didn't do Valentine's."

"That doesn't mean we single out this day for celibacy."

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" James didn't know why he was shouting.

"If a person is celibate it means that—"

"Don't patronise me! You mean you always spend every spare minute shagging?"

Albus didn't understand where James' rage was coming from either, but a part of him liked it. He spoke very coolly because he knew that would wind James up even more: "Whether I do or not, it's still none of your business."

James lunged forwards and took hold of Albus' wrist with both of his hands. "Who are you fucking?" he demanded, spittle flying onto Albus' skin. His face was livid red and his eyes flashed.

"I said it's none of—ow!"

James was twisting, his clenched fists moving in opposite directions around Albus' arm, pulling the skin over the bone, making it burn.

Albus couldn't stop himself from gasping, but he tried to stiffen his expression and level his voice to hide how much pain he was in. "Oh grow up!" He yanked his hand back, but couldn't throw off James' grip, he just succeeded in pulling his brother's long, lean body closer to his own. "Ok! Ok! It's Malfoy. Professor Malfoy."

James let go immediately; he stepped back, horrified. "Albus, don't," he whispered.

"Haven't you got a date with our cousin?" Albus nursed his sore wrist. "Don't want to keep your little toy waiting."

"Tell me you're not serious. Not that old bastard."

"I hope you enjoy holding hands and whispering poetry. Mind you don't try anything else, though, or you'll find yourself explaining things to the Wizengamot."

"Don't exaggerate."

"You'll be splashed all over the front pages: 'Potter's Son is a Kiddy Fiddler!'"

"What does that make your professor then?"

Albus backed away and pointed at the door. "Get out!" he said through gritted teeth. "Go away!"

"I don't want to."

"You're the laughing stock of the whole school, you know. All those girls you could have had, but you decided to make a show of yourself in front of everyone with a little boy. Our cousin!"

"Cousin's ok."

"Cousin's ok?"

"It's not like —" James pressed his mouth shut with his teeth. He wasn't about to complete that sentence. "Half the school's related to us. What are we supposed to do?"

Albus sighed icily and moved away. He opened the top drawer of his desk and rifled through the jars in there. "You'd better go. I've got things to do."

"Got to get seduced by a creepy pervert?"

The glass stopper that Albus threw caught James on the cheek. James put his hand up as Albus screamed, "At least I'll be enjoying it!" James' fingers came away with blood on the tips. "I'm planning on learning something, not having to teach the basics!"

"I'm bleeding." James' voice was quiet and stunned.

"Shit." Albus stared at his brother's blood, too. "I'm sorry." He had an absurd urge to lick it. He stayed where he was instead and took a deep breath. "You need to leave now," he said quietly.

"Don't go, don't give yourself to him," James pleaded. "Please."

Albus marched over to the door, his hand on the handle. James walked over as though he was about to leave. His cheek had stopped bleeding, but it looked swollen and discoloured.

"Don't let Malfoy touch you."

They were both at the closed door. Albus was about to open it; James would be gone soon; it would be over.

"Why not?" Albus asked.

"Because of this," James replied. He grabbed hold of his brother's head with both hands and brought his mouth down.

Professor Malfoy's rooms were prepared. In a few minutes his guest would arrive. Draco admired his reflection and positioned himself in the armchair where he planned to be sitting when the young man arrived.

He had been waiting for Albus to come of age. It wasn't that there weren't a lot of attractive and willing boys in his charge, and it wasn't as though he hadn't taken full advantage of that fact, but this one would be special.

He closed his eyes and fantasised. He wasn't going to do it, of course, but how delicious it would be to tell Albus' father all about it afterwards: "I fucked your son, Potter. I felt his virgin arse spasm with ecstasy round my cock. I bent him over and I ripped him apart. And you know what, Potter? He loved every second of it. He was begging me to go harder. So there's not a thing you can do about it."

Well, there was. He'd probably have him fired for abusing a position of trust, even though the boy was old enough to make his own choices. Best not to tell him, then. Draco would know, though. At every event where they were forced to meet and he had to endure that condescending forgiveness, Draco would know and it would help him to hold his head high.

He had been delighted when Potter's second son had been Sorted into his House. It gave him a chance to influence the boy. When he spotted the symptoms of Albus' crush on him, then he knew what shape his revenge could take. It would be no hardship; the lad was slim and pretty and in all subjects a quick learner. Draco did so hope that he was a virgin.

He cast a _Tempus_. So did Hugo, three floors above, as he walked nervously into the Great Hall.

James' kiss was hard and hot. Albus felt his knees collapse. He got his hands onto his brother's waist for support, and then slid them down to his buttocks because he just wanted to feel them. This was what he had been looking for. He had never admitted it, even to himself, but James was the one whom he had always really wanted.

Albus parted his lips and pushed his tongue out of his mouth and into the wet heat of his brother's. James moaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of their bodies. He relaxed his grip to gently cup Albus' face in his palms, rubbing soft circles onto his cheeks with his thumbs. They both moved forwards, into the space that wasn't in between them, pressing together.

Albus hadn't realised that his eyes had closed until he opened them again. His mouth moved back, but only slightly, and his lips moved lightly over James' lips as he whispered, "James, I don't know what —"

"Don't talk," James growled back. His hot toothpaste breath puffed into Albus' mouth.

Their mouths met again. This time they let their hands explore. Albus' hips jerked uncontrollably, and his hardening cock found the mirroring bulge at James' groin. His rationality was shutting down and his senses were sharpening. The thick, sweat-stinking Quidditch shirt under his touch was maddening. Uncoordinated, frantic, he tugged at it.

James pushed them both across the room and leant forward until they fell onto the bed. Albus was crushed and his precious suit twisted and wrinkled; he didn't care. His bow tie was undone and discarded, then James' trembling fingers loosened a shirt button through its hole. He licked at the olive skin that was exposed.

"James! Please!" Albus ground his hips upwards and dug his fingers into tight, muscular buttocks. He gripped the waistband of James' Quidditch leggings and tried to yank it down, but it was too close-fitting so he shoved one hand down inside. The skin there was sweaty and coarse-haired. The edge of his hand touched James' prick. James cried out against his skin.

The angle was difficult; he couldn't get his hand round inside the fabric. All of his concentration centred on that column of flesh. Then pain seared through his chest. James was biting him. Albus writhed and rutted. Then, James sucked hard.

Albus looked down at the auburn hair on top of him. His brain cleared for a moment and he pushed it off.

James was wild-eyed and red-lipped.

"You can't!" Albus panted. "Can't leave a mark. Has to be secret."

"You're mine," James growled. "I want them to know. Nobody needs to know who you belong to, but if anyone sees this then they'll know you're not available."

"I'm yours," Albus agreed. "You're mine." Then burning desire rushed through him again. "I need you naked," he whimpered.

James pulled off his top in one swift movement and Albus couldn't believe that he'd found it so difficult. His chest was defined, with pink nipples and a glow of ginger hair across it. Albus sat up far enough to tear down the leggings and release the hard cock which had been trapped inside them. Moisture gathered on its shiny tip. Albus licked at it, which caused such a happy groan above him, that he put his mouth onto it and sucked.

The Great Hall was full of chatter but Hugo was silent. He glared at the congealing pink sauce and wilting lettuce on his plate. How much longer should he wait? He was terrified to cast iTempus/i or to look up at the happy couples surrounding him. The back of his neck was burning up and his lower eyelids felt heavy. He was humiliated enough, he couldn't start crying now.

It had been stupid of him to believe that someone like James could have taken his love seriously. James was handsome and cool. Professor Longbottom had been right; he was too young for James, too. He kept trying to tell himself that something had come up and that his strong, handsome, articulate boyfriend was going to appear soon to explain and make it all good again. The longer he sat and waited, the less likely that seemed.

A movement in the air caused the candle on his table to flutter. Hugo looked up, but when he saw that the person standing by his table wasn't James, he looked back to his plate. He didn't feel strong enough to face questions. They would probably just be mocking questions anyway. He swallowed the hard lump that filled his throat suddenly.

"May I sit down?"

"I'm expecting someone," Hugo muttered.

"Just 'til he gets here?" The voice was gentle but Hugo couldn't look up. He nodded. Why not?

"Try not to worry," said the one who wasn't James. "I'm sure it's all fine. He wouldn't have given you those lovely flowers in front of everyone if he wasn't serious."

Hugo took a deep, steadying breath, as he was shunted a step closer to weeping. He couldn't cope with sympathy and warmth; it was going to topple him over into an abyss of self-pity. A brown-skinned hand crept over the table to pat the back of his and then retreat. Hugo had glimpsed enough to know that this was one of the Boot twins, but whether it was Veejay or Sanjay, he couldn't tell.

"To be honest," Boot said diffidently, "I hadn't realised before this morning that you were ... that you, I mean ... you liked boys. You know?"

Hugo's long hands flew up to cover his face as a realisation crashed into him like an icy wave: he had just outed himself in front of the whole school. He'd been too intoxicated by James' attention at the time. No wonder he was being ostracised!

The voice from the other side of the table was quiet. "I thought I was the only one in our year."

Hugo peeked between his fingers. It was Veejay, he could tell by the eyebrows, and he was chewing on his lip and looking down. He looked terrified. That had been a bold admission for a Ravenclaw.

"You like prawns?" Hugo asked him. He slipped his fingers down to reveal his eyes, but kept them over his highly coloured cheeks.

Veejay made eye contact. "Sure," he replied uncertainly.

"You might as well have his starter. It's his own fault if he misses out."

Veejay smiled uncertainly. "He's missing something special," he said. He fiddled with the fork as he mumbled, "Look, I know I'm not a Quidditch Captain or anything glamorous like that ..."

"That doesn't matter," Hugo mumbled back.

He reached over the table and patted the back of the hand that held the fork. His skin felt warm. Hugo's fingers tingled at the exotic sensation of touching someone he didn't know that well, someone who wasn't family.

The Potter brothers were naked now. Their lips were chapped and bruised from kissing so hard for so long. They rolled around the bed with their legs twisting together and between, moving over their clothes and mangling them, pressing fingers into intimate places, issuing a symphony of harmonised moans.

Albus threw his head back as James nibbled at his collar bone. A sob scraped over his roughened vocal chords. Then he said, "James. Want you to be my first."

James stilled his mouth, moving his thumb into its place to reply. "Yes, I'll be your first. And you'll be mine. But not now. I'm too close."

"Me too," Albus croaked.

Then James bit into Albus' bony shoulder, causing his brother to buck, which rubbed their overheated erections together and once, and twice and on the third jerk they both spilled over, crying out and covering each other's bellies with come.


End file.
